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by sandra70
Summary: The kiss at the end of 3x22 from Killian's point of view.


He could hear the muffled voices from inside the diner, an all in all happy mumble. And a happy occasion it was: the Wicked Witch was defeated, the royal baby saved, and everyone was celebrating the victory of good over evil. Nobody had invited him, but he'd gotten used to that, and it didn't really matter to him. What mattered was Emma. She was finally reunited with her family, and she was finally willing to accept them as her home. As for him, he was perfectly aware that he didn't really belong here. He'd been hoping that she'd come for him, look for him, just as he'd been hoping to get through to her for the past few weeks, but obviously she just didn't care enough - or dare enough. He swallowed and looked down at his hand absentmindedly playing with the flask lying on the table. For a moment he contemplated taking a swig, but for the first time in decades numbing his mind and pain with rum didn't seem so appealing to him.

And then the door of the diner opened, and she came outside with a searching look on her beautiful face. His heart leapt, although he told himself it meant nothing. Just because she had come to accept Storybrooke as her home, that didn't mean she had changed her mind about him. Just because she came looking for him, it didn't mean she'd see anything else or more in him than a friend.

Killian pulled himself together and plastered a smile and a nonchalant expression on his face when she sat down opposite him and started a conversation. She was talking about their time travel, about things going back to normal, and he started to wonder what it was all about, what she _really_ wanted, because he sensed an underlying nervousness in her looks and gestures. When she told him he was a hero, he shifted a little uncomfortably on his chair and averted his gaze. He knew better; he might not be a villain anymore, but he surely was no hero, and he didn't care to be regarded as one. What he cared about was to prove himself to be worthy of her.

When she thanked him for bringing her back from New York, he brushed it off, hoping she'd leave it at that. But this time, she was obviously determined to find out everything and started to question him. He tried to avoid the crucial point as long as he could; she had never been supposed to find out what he'd had to do to get to her, because it didn't matter, and it shouldn't matter. No trickery - he had no interest in making Emma feel guilty or obliged to him in any way. But then she asked him directly, and he knew there was no use in trying to hide the truth from her.

He tried to downplay it by putting on a cocky smile, but her face froze in disbelief while the seconds stretched. "You traded your _ship_ for me?"

The tonelessness of her voice and the utterly incredulous expression on her face almost broke his heart. She really couldn't believe it - but what threw her completely off track wasn't the realization of his willingness to give up the only thing that had been close to being a home for him for three hundred years. No, what she really couldn't wrap her mind around was that he'd done it for _her._ For the mere possibility to _maybe_ find her and bring her back, not even expecting anything in return. He didn't have any super power, but it was clearly written all over her face. She couldn't believe that for once, for _someone_ , she had been enough. Not the pawn in someone's game, not the Savior - just _she_ , just Emma Swan.

He had nothing left to say, nothing else to offer, so he just nodded his head once and replied simply: "Aye."

For a few seconds, time seemed to be frozen, and she just kept staring at him; then she slid forward to the edge of her chair and moved towards him, and he was like paralyzed at first, unable to react. Her eyes dropped to his lips, and her right hand went to his shoulder. She tilted her head, and he knew she was going to kiss him. Automatically, he leaned in a little and raised his hand to cup her head, but then froze in mid movement. There was still the tiniest possibility that she might pull back in the last moment - she was Emma Swan, after all. But no, she didn't hesitate for one second, braced the distance and came to him all the way, and when her lips touched his, when she really did it, he finally dared to put his hand to the back of her head.

The first touch was brief and gentle, tentative almost, and he was still anxious. But the next thing he felt were her fingers threading through his hair at the nape of his neck, and she kept kissing him, her lips soft and firm and _determined_ against his. He relaxed and responded to her - of course he did, what else could he do, he was putty in her hands. He kissed her back very carefully and slowly, and when she didn't falter, hope started to blossom warmly in his chest, and he allowed himself to respond a little more firmly.

Emma gradually moved closer to him until she was almost sitting on his lap, and while they forgot everything around them, their mouths got reacquainted with each other, recreating that feeling from long ago, but at the same time adding so much more on top of it. The kiss was thorough and tender, but the underlying passion, the _promise_ was undeniable. They were swaying back and forth like reed in the wind, her other hand pressing warmly against his chest like she was in search for even closer contact. At one point, he leaned back a little, needing to look into her eyes, to make sure that this was real, that she wouldn't dismiss it as another _one-time thing_. When he interrupted the kiss, for a delicious second her lips chased after him. Their stares locked, and for a terrible instant he braced himself against the rejection, but instead she smiled, her emerald eyes shining like stars. Still not believing his luck, he allowed himself to smile back, to accept what was happening.

Lost in happiness, his fingers gently caressed her jawline, playing with her silky hair, his thumb touching the dimple in her chin. Her eyes were still shining, but her expression was more serious now, silently permitting, _inviting_ him now, and he understood. He cupped the back of her head again and moved in for another kiss, capturing her waiting mouth with his own.

And finally, they were home.


End file.
